to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe

-c.j.

to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe

-c.j.

you'll always venture near dark gardens,
through mazes going along eastern hills
over fences you'll explore vast spaces
made of imaginary kingdoms

until the sun quits raying and shining down,
scamper into joyous field of flowering sepals just heavenly
see the valley's dandelions sway and drift side to side
under olive trees, from vine to vine

out even further lies some open-faced southern edens,
for visiting despite malevolent heathens not going their
expected ways

-c.j.

once God just tries, you'll get your wish
keep jumping nearer on your weak legs
dive just under the sky, close enough to
nip nicely at your shins
keep even chase with the quiet casts
you only reach quaint everests when nothing juts under
change everything
you, yourself
just try

-c.j.

there is a room full of clocks ticking in sync
because time has a heartbeat
and places are just different variations of time
time that can be beautiful if we let it

-c.j.

if you close your eyes it's just like
being in the midst of war
the fireworks puncture the sky
and follow each other without pause,
our final kisses
hurrying to make something beautiful
before we have to go

-c.j.

no doubt I was born with wolf blood
at seven I could howl and shake the moon above
and more truth shows and home calls

I step alone but wild winds blow while
I decide now if colliding heads and
seething teeth match and align with
my true story

are homes composed of icy spears
and brutality's wounds?
which body was I meant to occupy?

no doubt I was born with wolf blood
yet I am strikingly human as well
split genes in this animal
two worlds where I belong

-c.j.